


there's mountains since we met

by meoquiz



Category: The Arcana (Visual Novel)
Genre: Angst, Gender-Neutral Apprentice (The Arcana), Making Up, Minor Portia Devorak/Nadia, Other, POV Second Person, Tea, asra makes mistakes, cozy vibes, like i don't use pronouns for you other than "you" so dont worry, nadia and portia get cockblocked by a sad apprentice, portia devorak is a good friend
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-04
Updated: 2021-03-04
Packaged: 2021-03-17 02:20:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,050
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29834529
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/meoquiz/pseuds/meoquiz
Summary: You can’t stand here in this kitchen any longer. You’re not loud. You don’t yell at Asra or slam the door. You leave quickly and silently, and as you turn to close the door to the kitchen, you see him on the floor, hunched over himself, looking lost and so alone. You close the door. You leave the shop and start walking. It’s dark and you barely know which way you’re going, you just move.
Relationships: Apprentice & Portia Devorak, Apprentice/Asra (The Arcana), Asra (The Arcana)/Reader, Asra (The Arcana)/You, Minor or Background Relationship(s), Portia Devorak & You
Comments: 9
Kudos: 28





	there's mountains since we met

**Author's Note:**

> ily aswa sorry

It’s been a long day. You worked in the shop for a few hours in the morning, and then ran around Vesuvia all afternoon doing errands. You met with Nadia and her courtiers about her new reconstruction projects, did some shopping, and dropped off a mysterious package to Muriel that Asra asked you to deliver. You run into Julian in the early evening and are swept up into his plans for a few hours, but decide to head home before you get drunk and worry Asra. 

The lights in the windows are all turned out as you return home, so you assume that Asra has gone to bed. You come through the shop into the living space and as you dump your things quietly on the chair by the door, you notice the sound of laboured breathing in the kitchen.

You come into the kitchen to find Asra sitting on the floor, back against a cabinet, legs pulled in and his face buried in his hands.

“Asra?” you say, and he looks up at you. His eyes are swollen and his face is wet and flushed. He’s been crying. Fuck. You don’t know what to do with that. “Are you okay?” you ask, still standing in the doorway.

“Clearly I’m not fucking okay,” Asra snaps, then presses his hands to his face again as his body shakes with sobs.

You step further into the room. You don’t know where to put your hands. “Is… is there anything I can do?”

“I don’t know,” says Asra. “Comfort me?”

You come to kneel beside him. What are you supposed to do? You awkwardly place a hand on his back, moving it in circles. You two stay like that for a few moments before he shrugs your hand off.

“Forget it,” he says. “I shouldn’t have-- It’s my fault and I was-- and now you’re… like this.” His words are disjointed and broken up by sobs and gasps for air.

You don’t know what he’s talking about. “Like what?” you say.

And asra is still crying as he says, “You don’t remember _anything_ , you won’t touch me like you used to. You’re different, and sometimes I don’t know if it was a mistake to bring you back.”

Your heart drops. Asra looks surprised at what he said, looking at you immediately with wide, regretful eyes.

“Oh.” You stand, beginning to back away from him.

Asra is on his knees saying, “WAIT I didn’t mean-- it wasn’t a mistake I _know_ it wasn’t a mistake.” With his face unhidden you can see the tears streaming down, the snot covering his upper lip.

He reaches for your hand to stop your moving but you pull it away. It’s the first time you’ve pulled away from his touch in months. You whisper, “Don’t touch me.”

Asra sits back on his heels and says, “I’m sorry.”

You can’t stand here in this kitchen any longer. You’re not loud. You don’t yell at Asra or slam the door. You leave quickly and silently, and as you turn to close the door to the kitchen, you see him on the floor, hunched over himself, looking lost and so alone. You close the door. You leave the shop and start walking. It’s dark and you barely know which way you’re going, you just move. 

\--------

Somehow you end up at Portia’s cottage, the night air is bitingly cold and dry, your skin stings, if you don’t get out of the cold soon it’s going to start cracking and bleeding. When you left you didn’t think to bring anything for the weather, you didn’t think at all, you just knew you had to get out. 

You can see dim light through Portia’s windows, so you hope that means she’s home and still awake. You come up to the front door and knock. It’s too quiet, your aching hand protesting. You try again after a minute, and it’s louder this time. You hear voices pipe up inside the house, Portia’s and someone with a smooth, rich, feminine voice. They’re laughing together. It makes you feel even more miserable. 

Portia swings open the door, wearing a dressing gown, a laugh still on her face, looking breathless and so happy. You can’t see who she had been talking to. Portia eyes your face and her expression falls into concern. 

“Hey, bug, is something wrong?” she asks.

“Hi.” Your voice cracks on the word. You sniffle, but you don’t want to cry yet. “Sorry it’s late but something happened and I just couldn’t be there anymore, I’m really sorry.”

“Don’t apologize. It’s so cold out here, please come in. Have you eaten? Can you tell me what happened?” She ushers you into the house.

Once inside, you see that her guest was Nadia, perched on the back of the sofa, also wearing a dressing gown and looking distinctly ruffled. She gives you a sympathetic smile in greeting, but it looks uncomfortable. As you realize just what you had probably interrupted, you turn to Portia, eyes wide and guilty.

“I can go,” you say. “Seriously, I don’t want to ruin your night.”

Portia herds you into one of her patterned cushioned seats at the kitchen table, saying, “I won’t have that, really it's okay, this is more important. Now have you eaten?”

You shake your head. You barely spent five minutes at home, and you’ve been too numb to think about hunger.

“Alright, how about some bread and some fruit? Can you eat that for me, bug?” You nod. She smiles and starts bustling around the kitchen. “How about some tea too?”

“Yeah, that sounds okay,” you say.

Rising from her perch in the living room, Nadia says, “I should probably get back to the palace. I’ll just… collect my things.” You and Portia watch her scurry into Portia’s bedroom.

Having started the water heating and collected some rolls of bread, a few bunches of grapes, and some sliced orange onto a tray, Portia sets up at the table and slides into a seat. You grab a roll of bread, and she mirrors you, taking a bite and smiling. You two snack in silence for a few minutes. 

Nadia, now fully dressed, sneaks out of the bedroom, seemingly attempting to make her exit unnoticed. Portia rolls her eyes affectionately and pushes out her chair to go say goodbye to Nadia. You watch for a moment as they speak in hushed voices, but turn away to give them privacy when they lean in for a brief, chaste kiss. Portia closes the door and comes back to sit beside you, her smile warm and private. You try to smile in return, but it’s probably a bit more of a grimace. 

“You and Nadia? _No one_ would’ve seen that coming,” you say sarcastically. Your voice sounds a little too raw to really pull it off, but Portia doesn’t comment on it.

Portia’s cheeks pink slightly but she’s still smiling. “I know, we were really obvious, huh?”

“I would say it’s more that you two seem… right.”

“That’s really sweet.” Portia ducks her head.Your heart hurts. You’re happy for her, really, but you’re still reeling over what Asra said to you earlier. Portia looks back up at you, suddenly serious. “Don’t try to distract me anymore, please tell me what happened.” You’re silent for a moment, and she continues, “You don’t have to though, if you’re not ready. No pressure.” And gives an awkward little smile.

Something in that little smile, in the way she’s trying her best to make you comfortable, breaks the dam that’s been holding you back ever since walking into the shop that evening. Through your tears, you tell her about what happened, you coming home to find Asra a mess on the floor, the things Asra said, how you left. Portia listens attentively, halfway through your speech the kettle on the stove whistles, and you take a break for her to bring over the mugs and tea bags. You sip your tea and try to calm down as you finish the story with how you found yourself wandering to Portia’s cottage. 

“Fuck…” she says, once she’s heard everything. She brings her hands up over her mouth and asks, “Can I give you a hug?”

“Yeah,” you say shakily.

Portia rises and you mirror her, you raise your hands to wipe away some of the tears and snot on your face, but before you can she’s wrapped her arms around you in a tight hug. You cover your face with your hands as your body shakes with sobs. Portia brings her hand up to pet your hair, whispering to you, “I know, you’re okay, bug.” She’s soft but strong where she touches you, her hair clouding around both of you, tickling your neck. She smells like fresh laundry and sweet bread. You press yourself closer to her and let her hold you tightly even though your arms are in an awkward position, being pressed to your chest.

When you’ve gotten your breathing under control again, Portia sits you down again, fetches you a handkerchief and implores you to sip more tea. “I can’t fucking believe him,” she says, enraged. “What a bastard to even _think_ that let alone _say_ that to you, my God.”

“I know that he's… been struggling…” you say. “And I get it, I mean, I’m not the same as I was before and he was expecting…”

“No.” Portia’s eyes are intent on you. “No fucking excuses, he’s the one who made the choice to bring you back and he doesn’t get to hurt you like this because you _went through extremely traumatic experiences_ and have changed a bit because of it.”

“But I--” Your voice chokes up again. Portia takes your hand in both of hers. “I don’t remember and he--”

“Doesn’t get to take that out on you. You deserve nothing but love, and kindness, and comfort. His baggage is not your fault and it’s not your responsibility. Okay?”

You look down at where your hand rests in hers. “...Okay.”

“You look so miserable, bug. Try being angry with him,” she says, and she’s teasing now, but you’re still feeling a bit too teary to play along.

“I don’t think I’m angry with him, I don’t think I want to be.”

“Okay, then I’ll be angry with him for you.”

That gets a smile and a watery little laugh out of you. “Thank you, Portia,” you say.

“Any time, sweetie,” Portia says with a wink. “Now, it’s not as comfy as the palace’s, but I have a cozy little guest room you could sleep in if you wanna get some rest. Unless you wanna keep talking? I’ll stay up with you.”

“I’m ready for bed,” you say, and Portia holds your hand to lead you to the room, then makes sure you have enough blankets and some comfy clothes to sleep in, and you both say goodnight.

\--------

You wake the next morning to the sound of raised voices coming from the front of the house. As you gather your bearings and remember where you are and what happened last night, you can make out that the voices belong to Portia and Asra. You move close to the door to listen to their conversation.

“...Come here last night? Nadia wouldn’t say anything, she told me to talk to you,” says Asra. His voice sounds raw and tired.

“And what gives you the right to know?” The coldness in Portia’s voice sends a chill down your spine despite not being directed at you, it’s just so disorienting to hear her usually warm, teasing voice take on that quality. “You know, I had no idea you were such a bastard, Asra. Get yourself the fuck together.”

“I know,” says Asra. “I fucked up. Just-- it was the middle of the night and there could’ve been danger--”

“Don’t worry about that, Asra.” Portia’s voice has softened somewhat at hearing Asra’s concern for you. It’s harder to hear but you don’t want to risk an awkward confrontation right now, so you stay pressed to the door.

“Okay. Thank you.” Asra sounds a bit more relaxed now. “You know what happened, then?”

“Yeah. I know what happened.”

“Fuck, Portia, what did I do? How do I fix it?”

“I really don’t know. I hope that you can.”

You hear the front door shut and in a minute you hear Portia start to clank around in the kitchen. You decide it’s safe now to make an entrance.

Portia looks up from measuring flour when you come in. “Oops, I didn’t wake you, did I?”

“No-- well.” You scrub the back of your neck with your hand. “Not with kitchen noises at least.”

Her eyes widen as she gathers what you mean. “So you heard Asra…?” she trails off.

You nod. “I need to talk to him,” you decide.

“Are you sure?” Portia’s still measuring out ingredients into a big bowl. “If you’re not ready to see him that’s completely understandable too, I don’t want you to push yourself to do something when you’re not ready.”

“I’m ready, I think.“ You take a second to collect your thoughts and watch Portia pour portions of her mixture onto a heated pan. “Obviously I’m still hurt by what happened last night. But I need to find out how he actually feels, and if he does think that bringing me back was a— mistake, then I need to know so I can figure out what to do with that, where I go from here. I’m not planning to just go back to him immediately. And if we decide to stay together, we clearly have a lot to work on.”

“That's really good, bug,” says Portia. “I was worried that you would just forgive and forget without thinking, from the way you were talking about it last night.”

You fidget bashfully a little; it’s awkward to be reminded of the distressed and vulnerable state she saw you in, you’re not used to it. 

Portia, recognizing your discomfort, nudges the conversation along. “When are you planning to see him?”

“Today,” you say. “As soon as I can, honestly.”

Portia laughs a little at your eagerness. “Will you have time to eat these pancakes first?”

“I think I can fit it into my schedule,” you say. 

\--------

After a lovely breakfast of pancakes, fruit, and rich coffee lightened with cream, you make your goodbyes with Portia. She wraps you up in one last hug before you go, squeezing tight and reminding you not to settle, and that she will be right there on your side with her spare room if things go poorly. It makes you want to cry again, how kind she is. She offers to walk you over to the shop, if you can wait until late afternoon for her shift at the palace to finish, but you’d still rather go earlier, and you think the walk by yourself will give you needed time to sort through everything. 

You leave the cottage in the late morning, and by the time you arrive at the shop it is midday. The sun is high in the sky but it’s early spring, so the air still has a chill to it and you’re comfortable. Well, as comfortable as you can be in the clothes you were wearing for most of yesterday.

You can see that the shop is closed for the day, and you hope that Asra isn’t still out. You enter the shop and make your way to the stairs leading up to your living space. As you climb the stairs, they creak under your feet, and you hear footsteps pounding from behind the door. It opens to reveal a frantic and breathless Asra. His cloud of white hair is a mess, and he doesn’t look like he’s had much sleep since last night. You look at each other for a moment, neither of you sure how to begin. 

With an air of despair and hope, Asra asks, “Will you come in?”

You nod and he steps aside, then closes the door gently behind you. He looks as though he’s about to say something, but you rush to speak before he can.

“I’m going to change clothes first.”

He looks a bit relieved and a bit disappointed. “Okay,” he says, and lets you cross the living room to your bedroom.

Once you’ve changed out of your day-old clothes and have stood in your room procrastinating for as long as you can without looking like you’re avoiding him, you step back out into the living room. Asra stands up from the sofa, but stays several feet away from you, giving you the space you need .You have a moment of panic. You think you’re not ready and you don’t know what to say. You just want to erase all of yesterday and pretend like nothing is wrong, but clearly his outburst was the result of more than just yesterday, so you must resolve this somehow. You’re just not sure that you’re ready for what that might mean. You’re not ready to lose him but you won’t stay if he--

“I’m so sorry,” he starts, and thank God he does because you were spiraling in your thoughts. “I wasn’t thinking clearly and I didn’t mean what I said at all. Of course it wasn’t a mistake to bring you back, you’re the love of my life. I could never regret that.”

You struggle to put your thoughts into words. “Look, I know I’m unbearable. I know I'm difficult to have. And to love.”

Asra looks at you so softly. His eyes are so sad as says, “You’re not unbearable. You’re lovely. I’m sorry. I'm so incredibly sorry that I acted like my love was conditional. You’re not hard to love. I never want to make you feel like I only want you for who I remember you being before. I love who you are now. I love you and that’s not going to change no matter what.”

You want to accept what he’s telling you. You want to believe him when he says he loves you, but clearly he’s still feeling the loss of who you were before, and you won’t watch him hurt himself by staying with you. Both of you deserve better than that. 

“Asra,” you say. “It’s okay for your feelings to change— I mean it would hurt me, yes, but I don’t want you to feel stuck to me if you don’t love me anymore. I’m not sure that I’m ever going to be the person I was before I died. and I can’t stay if you’re not prepared for that. If that’s going to make you unhappy. And I’m not going to sit here and watch you grieve over the person I was. I can’t do that knowing that I’m never going to be that person. I don’t even know that person.” 

“I know. I don’t— I don’t _want_ to grieve over you. You’re right here and you’re doing everything right. I don’t expect — or want — you to try and fit my definition of who you are ‘supposed to be’, I just. I’m struggling to adjust.”

Your throat feels raw. “And that’s fine.” Your voice cracks on the last word and oh God, you’re crying. You didn’t want to cry. “I want to be there for you when you’re struggling but I don’t know how to comfort you and I don’t know how I’m supposed to feel when I’m still— when you miss me but I’m _right fucking here_ and I’m not enough.”

Asra’s face is full of anguish. Or maybe pity, you’re not sure. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. Fuck. You are enough. You’re everything.”

“I don't feel like enough when you’re breaking down on the kitchen floor and you want me to comfort you but I can’t because I’m _wrong_ now.”

“You’re not wrong! You keep saying—“

You cut him off. “Because _you_ can’t get it straight in your own head. I get it. You don’t want to hurt me and you don’t want to hear me say hurtful things about myself but deep down you know that what I’m saying is how you feel.”

Asra’s voice is getting desperate. “It’s not! It was just that one time—“

“As if that time wasn’t a culmination of years of feeling that way. Of missing me when I was right next to you. Please don’t lie to me.”

“God!” Asra throws his hands into the air as he paces.” You’re so determined that you know exactly how I feel.”

“Well everything you’ve been saying has been contradicting yourself—“

“I can’t _talk_ to you when you’re like this.” 

With that, Asra turns on his heel to storm into his bedroom. You let out a shuddering sigh and rub your hands over your face, wiping off the wetness. You go into the kitchen.

You’re not going to get anything out of him when he’s this frustrated, so you decide to let him brood. You get yourself a soothing cup of tea and sip it quietly on the sofa while wondering if you were too harsh. You had thought you were just saying what you were both thinking, but that Asra was in denial about. Maybe you really are wrong about how Asra is feeling. Maybe you pushed too much, but honestly you’re still hurt over what he said to you before, and you wanted to communicate to Asra how he had made you feel. You distract yourself by focusing on the way the tea soothes your throat, scratchy from crying, and the way it pools warm in your belly.

Asra comes out of his room and stands in the middle of the living room. He doesn’t look like he’s been crying, at least. He closes his eyes tightly, scrunches up his nose and puts a hand over his eyes when he says, “You’re not entirely wrong.”

Even though you had said it, and had suspected it for a long time, it’s still a bit of a blow to hear Asra confirm it. “Oh?” you ask, your voice small.

“I’m... confused. I haven’t been letting myself identify the things I've been feeling because I've been trying to ignore them. So you’re right that I don’t know all of what I feel. And I think... I need to see someone. A counselor, or someone. To talk about it and figure it out. And to learn to let my emotions out so I don’t break down like that in the future.”

He comes to sit beside you, taking your hands in his. 

“But you’re incorrect when you say that I think that anything about you is wrong, just because you’re different now. You are so good and the person you are right now is exactly right. I love you.”

The way he says it, his voice carries such conviction, such warmth, and you find that you believe him. For the first time since his meltdown (and maybe even longer than that if you’re honest with yourself), you allow yourself to accept Asra’s praise, accept his love. You smile, though it feels awkward, involuntary, shaky. Asra returns it still.

“I love you, too,” you say, and Asra squeezes your hands. 

His eyes scan your face and linger at your lips, then look back to your eyes, his gaze searching, asking permission. You give a small nod and lean forward. His hands release yours to splay on your jaw, and he kisses you, slowly and sweetly. It’s just a press of lips, both of you content to keep it chaste. You pull away together and rest your foreheads against each others’.

“I think we’re okay,” you say. “But I need some time to forgive you. And… I need you to talk to me when you’re in pain. I don’t know how to help you, I just freeze up and I need you to tell me how to comfort you, okay?”

“Okay,” Asra says. “I’m going to work on it, I promise.”

You pull away and nod. “Do you want to help me make lunch? We’re going to eat and talk. A lot. And then you’re going to take a nap.”

“Sounds perfect.” Asra smiles and follows you into the kitchen.

**Author's Note:**

> i had so much fun with this even though i hurt my own feelings lol. asra might've been a bit ooc idk but i just think he deserves to make mistakes and be angsty. anyway tysm for reading :) im planning to write lots of arcana fics esp ones with trans apprentices bc im trans and i feel like there's a major drought of them rn. excited hehe


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